


After The Fall

by Poppedthep



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 13:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poppedthep/pseuds/Poppedthep
Summary: An accident changes Brooke Lynn’s life completely. Some changes are better than others.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not part of the Branjieverse my other fics fit in. It’s an extreme departure from reality AU, as you'll see. More notes at the end! 
> 
> Another long one, get comfy or take breaks! Have split into chapters again but posting all at once because I'm nice like that :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not know a lot about some of the key topics in this beyond light research and imagination. There may be medical inaccuracies. Please let me know if anything is distractingly incorrect or in any way offensive and I will change it. I would of course absolutely never wish the events of this fic on anyone and while lightly inspired by real things these characters are completely and totally fictional.

Brooke Lynn is on pointe when it happens. On a narrow beam suspended high in the air, performing at a circus drag show in Vegas.

She’s covered by medical insurance, fully warmed up, and has rehearsed the number hundreds of times, a consummate professional, always, but none of that helps her when there’s a spot of oil on the beam from a loose rig above, and she slips.

Her ankle rolls. She falls out of her pirouette to the side, off the beam. The flying sensation of ballerina twirls melts into the terrifying swoop of unexpected freefall. Her mind goes blank with shock, her body instinctively twisting in the air to try land safely.

The crowd gasps in collective horror as all 6”3 of her drops straight down in front of them, misses the safety net.

When she hits the mats she lands awkwardly. She damages her spinal cord, leaving her paralyzed from the neck down.

Dancing, then performing drag, has been Brock’s life for as long as he can remember. Since he was a little boy. In one fall everything that made him him is gone.

Impossible to do anymore. Impossible to dance, crowd surf, even walk on stage and hold a mic. Impossible to dress himself, to do his makeup, to even move his hand to pick up his Uncuffed Fenty lip paint. He used to spend five, ten minutes each time he did his makeup, just dragging the applicator over his lips, again and again, almost meditative, like a ritual. Now he can’t close his fingers around it.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow. He worked hard to create a strong, powerful, desirable body. Now it’s all taken from him, and he’s left with nothing. His heart is broken. It feels like his life is over.

Brooke Lynn Hytes is gone, Brock the ballerina is gone, and he is a sad, heartbroken man in his thirties in a stuffy bedroom in Tennessee who needs help to do everything.

His mom, already in retirement, and in wonderful irony already a nurse by profession, moves down from Canada to help look after him. They hire a rotating team of in-home nurses to assist her. Cute male ones, who he’d flirt with if he wasn’t so depressed, like a cruel joke, or perhaps it was supposed to be a treat for him.

It hangs unspoken in the air that when his lease renewal comes around in a couple months he should probably move back to Toronto.

He doesn’t want to face that. It feels too much like giving up. He’s still a winner, even if his body isn’t anymore. He has to be, because if he’s not, who is he?

At least his muscles locked in his perfect posture rather something less flattering, thank God. At least he still has full range of movement in his facial expressions, can move his head a little. At least his boy wardrobe doesn’t have to change much, already old sweats and t-shirts and hoodies.

But he misses twirling and kicking in heels and beautiful dresses like a phantom limb. Misses the swirl of chiffon following his movements like a streaming banner. Misses rolling his body in skin tight straps and having rooms of people salivate over his ass, dropping into a handstand or a split making them gag and gasp. He can still get someone to put the clothes on but he’ll never feel that again.

He has dreams where he’s dancing, grand jetes and pirouettes on ballet stages or body rolls and booty pops in clubs. Each time he wakes up broken hearted all over again.

He has dreams where he’s falling, unable to stop it, and wakes up in a cold sweat he can’t wipe away without help.

He kills himself in physio, pushing himself hard every session, harder than when his toes used to bleed from pointe, harder than when his back muscles got so tight at the National Ballet School he’d get into a bath and cry after class. Trying to stop his body, his crowning glory, from atrophying. Trying to get inches of spasmodic movement back in his fingers. After being able to do such big grand showstopping things, it’s a shift to get excited over a slight twitch.

After the first few weeks, it starts to sink in that this is reality. He gets into the swing of physio and his care routine. The dust settles and he starts to come to terms with this being his life now. After he’s watched all nine seasons of The Office twice, he gives himself a mental shake (because he can’t give himself a physical one) and switches into the high achieving winner mindset he always had, tries to find a way to continue working, continue his career in some form.

He starts a youtube channel where he reads people. Not his best skill but the only drag skill he hasn’t completely lost the ability to do. Plus with the bitterness of recent events his sarcasm really amps up a notch.

The outpouring of support from fans is huge, especially due to the circumstances.

He reads everyone from fellow queens to celebrities to fans, who clamor for the opportunity to get bullied by Brooke Lynn Hytes. He mixes the reads up with Q and A videos, his take on the latest trending Youtuber challenges, the occasional rant where he tries to get frustrations off his chest without giving away too many personal details or crying. Those are praised by the fans for being brave and relatable, showing the vulnerable side they always knew he had hidden, and his channel is a success, becomes a viable, sustainable form of income.

But it’s nothing like the feeling of doing drag shows.

He mostly does the videos as Brooke Lynn, hires a makeup artist to get him ready and dictates exactly what he wants her to do. She tries her best to follow but it’s absolutely maddening to sit there and have someone else do things ever so slightly wrong.

And it’s hard to really feel like Brooke Lynn when he’s motionless in a chair.

But he’s got a new routine and a new direction for his career. That just leaves his social life, his last concern as usual, which has been left to wither and die since the fall.

At first he doesn’t want any of his friends to see him. Too embarrassed by what he’s been reduced to. Can’t bear to see their pity, especially his drag queen friends, to have his brilliant peers see him as a shadow of his former self.

If they never see him like this part of him can remain in denial that it’s really happening.

Eventually he gets bored enough alone in his Nashville house with his mom and his nurses to start accepting the offers from friends to visit. To cautiously start working through his 898 unread text messages.

Steve cries, Courtney cries, Nina positively weeps. Everyone is so sad for him, so pitying. It’s irritating. It’s upsetting. Brock can’t deal with their emotions without crying himself and he’s so tired of crying. Plastique and her boyfriend don’t cry but are so gently beautifully sad and in synch it’s like he’s outside of himself watching a play.

(Watching them have each other never used to make Brock feel much of anything besides how cute and well matched they were. Now he gets a weird sting looking at the two of them so perfect for each other, thinking about how he’s been robbed of ever having that for himself one day. Not that he was ever in a hurry to get there. But he’d always assumed one day he would. Now that’s been taken away too. Less urgent than dancing, than drag, but still gone. A whole part of his humanity.)

Detox cries, Farra cries, even Ra’jah cries, though at least she makes jokes while she’s crying.

Vanjie comes by straight off an Australian tour, looking fresh and tan and glowing and Brock feels sick with envy and more scared of his reaction than anyone else’s.

The last time he saw Vanjie they were leaving the same hotel room in Amsterdam. He was off to Manchester, Jose heading back to LA, both yawning but satisfied from a long night of enjoyable catch up sex after getting drunk together after their gig, but with no plans to be in the same city again any time soon. Jose wolf whistled at the retreating sway of his hips and he winked at him over his shoulder.

The last time they spoke was the phone conversation to arrange this visit over bad international reception, crackly and breaking up.

“How are you?”

“Alive. Accepting visitors if you still want to see me.”

Then the connection cut out again, the rest arranged over text when a callback attempt failed.

Now Jose is here in the doorway, tiny with a presence larger than life.

The last time he was in this doorway he was in those same black and red panel leggings, dragging their cases to the car to head to the airport for Toronto, their last trip as boyfriends. His first ever boyfriend, now probably his last. Isn’t that a cruel twist for a late bloomer?

“Hello hello hello, Miss Brooke Lynn. Look who finally decide to answer my texts,” Jose clicks his tongue, runs his eyes up and down him, head tilted, lips pursed sassily, but a smile is already breaking out - he can’t hold a poker face for long.

Brock is indescribably grateful to him for trying to lighten the mood already, for not walking in and crying on him or screaming in horror.

“Been a little busy,” Brock jokes back weakly.

Jose is looking him over, cataloguing the changes with concentrated focus, he can tell because you can read Jose’s expressions like a book, and it makes his face burn with shame.

It’s still so new to him to not feel extraordinarily proud of his body. To not be ready to show it off at every opportunity. Not to have people eager to see it and appreciative of the view. To be looking up at Jose, a head shorter in his chair, even with his long body and upright posture.

“Don’t look busy to me. Look to me like you been sat on that fine ass,” Jose pops his tongue fake sassy, eyes smiling encouragingly. Brock bursts out with laughter.

Jose’s eyes are embarrassingly soft and kind but thank God he’s making jokes.

“Okay, you got me,” he jokes along as best he can.

Jose is still looking him over intently. He hates anyone seeing him like this but it's worse when it's someone who used to find him incredibly sexy.

“Don’t look at me, it’s embarrassing.”

Jose brushes it off like that didn’t cost Brock a lot to say.

“Pshh, dont play, bitch, you know you still trade as fuck even all paralyzed and shit,” he shrugs, bouncing on the balls of his feet with nervous energy, apparently totally sincere.

Brock is too stunned to react. Jose’s eyes gleam wickedly like they used to when Brock’s body worked, when he could have got up and grabbed him by the hips and kissed or tickled the cheeky smirk off his face.

It’s so inappropriate and wonderful and typically Vanjie he wants to cry with joy. Something in his subconscious must be stuck on grabbing Jose because what comes out of his mouth is,

“Don’t I get a hug?” and it feels so strange to say it but not be able to hold his arms out to him.

“Of course,” Jose starts towards him enthusiastically and then hesitates right in front of him.

“I ain’t gonna break you or nothing?” He looks him over frowning.

“Not any more than I already am.”

Given the green light, Jose is diving on him and he can’t feel most of where their bodies touch but he feels the warmth of it, as Jose exhales “Biiiiitch,” slowly against the side of his face, tilts his head and not so subtley inhales the space near Brock's neck. 

His mom tactfully makes herself busy in the kitchen after helping Brock onto the couch.

Both fairly shy and wanting to give Brock as much privacy as she can, she hasn’t stuck around much for any of his friend catch ups. She briefly tells Jose it’s nice to see him again, offers him a drink.

“All good babe, got my little water bottle,” he pats the fanny pack around his torso, “Thank you Joan” in his sweetest, best behavior parents voice.

Brock feels immediately better on the couch. He likes to be out of his chair as much as possible. It still feels unnatural to him. He likes to snatch moments of feeling close to his old normality wherever he can. He’s always been a social, touchy person. He doesn’t like to be separate from everyone else in a special chair like a barrier. He loved to touch everyone - friends, lovers, strangers - little mindless meaningless touches or big affectionate ones and it's another one of his favorite things that is lost to him now. 

Jose hovers close ready to help as his mom settles him there and stays close when they sit down.

His mom left the TV on like she did for his other visits. It had been helpful in the awkward silences between the crying to have background noise to focus on.

It’s the Real Housewives of somewhere and one of them is not happy with what her husband is planning for her birthday.

“Tsch she pressed over nothing, I already seen this one,” Jose says dismissively, muting the TV, his attention full on Brock, and they don’t pay the Housewives any more notice.

They quickly get lost in catching up, conversation surprisingly easy, Jose’s voice soft and concerned in all the right places but not so pandering it gets irritating. Jose filling any silences with bad, silly jokes and making Brock want to joke back. Jose’s raucous laugh breathing life into the house each time he throws his head back, making Brock smile involuntarily like it always does, making him proud he’s not gotten so bitter and depressed he can’t still be funny.

At one point Brock giggles, sticking his tongue out, eyes lit up with joy, and Jose tilts his head and just looks at him for a full few seconds before shaking his head and sighing,

“Biiiiitch. I forgot how damn cute you are.”

The whole time Jose’s eyes twinkle mischief at Brock like they always did, like Brock is a tasty snack that he wants to devour. Brock couldn’t be more grateful. He never expected to see that when someone looked at him again. It’s the closest to normal he’s felt since the accident. It's happiness but also relief.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Of course Vanjie knows how to play every social situation perfectly, including a catch up with your friends with benefits ex who recently became quadriplegic.

Hours fly by before they notice, talking about everything and nothing. Mostly Jose’s tour stories because Brock has a limited life these days. A little reminiscing on old memories, gossiping about mutual friends. It gets dark out but they’re still chatting away and his mom doesn’t disturb them.

The topic changes to how much of Brock’s body still works, whether he has sensation in the places he can’t move. Jose has been edging closer. Now practically in Brock’s lap, he starts unabashedly touching different parts of Brock’s body like a curious child.

“Can you feel that?” A hand on his thigh.

“Nope.”

“That?” Fingers running down his arm. He thinks about how that would have made him shiver before and there’s the ghost of a feeling. Maybe a memory.

“A little bit maybe? More the warmth of your skin I think than actually feel it.”

Jose squeezes his palm to himself like he’s investigating how warm it is.

“Can you feel this?” He places a hand over Brock’s heart.

“Nope. A bit of pressure, maybe.”

“I can feel your heart.” Jose keeps his hand there.

“Well, yeah. That’s still working.” Jose laughs and snatches his hand back.

“This?” He runs fingers along Brock’s collar bone and it’s nowhere near as vivid as it would have been but it’s not nothing. Almost more like pins and needles than pleasure.

“Not much. A little.”

Brock feels his heart kick up a small notch at the feeling. Jose’s touch experiments are more interesting than when the doctors did them.

Jose trails a finger from his collar bone up his neck, over his adam’s apple and he feels his body’s recognition of it grow from barely there to maddeningly sensual.

“Any of this?”

“There,” he says when he can feel the pad of Jose’s finger clear as day, screaming at his senses.

“Can you feel this?” Jose asks, cupping his cheek.

“Yes,” he says, breathless. He doesn’t know if his face has gotten overly sensitive to compensate for lack of feeling elsewhere or if it’s the lovely unexpected intimacy of the moment.

“This?” Jose leans in slowly and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. And, oh, he feels that.

Jose blinks prettily as he sits back, watching Brock’s reaction.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice softer than he means it to be.

A little kiss was fairly normal for them before the fall. They’d kiss properly when they were drunk but they regularly shared little loving friend kisses casually, usually initiated by Brock, as he did with all his good friends, especially the ones he’d hooked up with.

But one soft kiss after months of nothing and believing there would be nothing ever again is maddeningly sensual. The press of Jose’s plump juicy familiar lips is breathtaking.

“All right then, we’ll keep him. Don’t needa change this one for a new one model,” Jose jokingly calls to no one, smiles cheekily at Brock.

He wants to lean forward and kiss Jose again. That’s what he’d do before the accident. He wants to grab his face with both hands but he can’t move. His lips tingle with how much he wants to kiss him.

He tries to will Jose to know it with his eyes, doesn’t want to ask out loud to be kissed and ruin the moment and possibly his pride.

It looks like Jose might be getting it. He’s biting his lip, looking at Brock all coy and wanting. He knows that look well.

Then Brock’s mom squeaks the kitchen door open, unintentionally ruining the moment.

“It’s getting very late,” she says gently, as though aware she’s ruining a moment but can’t put it off any longer.

She can’t have known how much of a moment she was killing, as surprise lights up her face when she sees how close they’re sitting and the way they were looking at each other.

“Oh. I’m sorry to interrupt. Brock, I know if I let you overdo it and be tired for your session tomorrow you’ll be cross with me,” she lingers in the door, reluctant to break up the reunion even while saying it.

“Jose, dear, it was nice to see you. Will you be okay getting back?”

“I’ma call a car, thank you Joan,” Jose says in his sweet to mom voice.

“Are you flying out tonight?” Brock tries to sound casual, his numb unfeeling chest suddenly seizing in panic with how much he doesn’t want him to go.

He’s been happier the past couple hours with Jose than the past couple months combined. There were moments tonight he felt like a normal guy with an ex he still has a big old crush on, and that’s something he never thought he’d get to feel again.

“I was gonna fly out tomorrow,” Jose says uncertain. “I can probly change it to tonight if you…”

“No tomorrow is good. I don’t have physio until one. We could get breakfast or something?” Brock tries not to sound too hopeful. Jose came all this way to see him, surely he’ll be happy to get breakfast. No need to get butterflies about it.

“Where are you staying?”

“Got a hotel in town,” Jose picks at his thumb. “I could…” he glances up and catches eyes with Brock’s mom. “Nah, nevermind.”

“No, you could what?” Brock pushes, hating how eager he sounds.

“...I could stay here instead. If you want?” Jose raises his eyebrows, trying to balance a cute and innocent look to Brock’s mom with a seductive look to Brock.

And oh how Brock wants that.

To be in bed with Jose again. To have more kisses. Even just a cuddle.

Although he’s never been naturally monogamous Brock used to love the feeling of cuddling someone in bed. It’s something he hasn’t even considered for himself since the fall. Assuming it was now out of the realm of possibility for him, like so many other things.

People have come by and cried and held his cold hand even though he can’t feel it, given awkward hugs he can feel a shadow of, but there's a layer of careful concerned distance between him and everyone now. His mom gives him long hugs whenever he asks or she gets overcome and needs to, but there hasn't been anything romantic, full bodied, intimate. It's been so long since he was cuddled. Even if he can never feel it fully again, even the idea of it is delicious.

But things are different now. As he thinks through the logistics of it the disappointment hits him like a truck.

“We can’t. I mean you could stay on the couch but we can’t…” shame clogs his throat and he has to start again,

“I...have to sleep with...a pad. An incontinence pad. The muscles don’t...sometimes I…” Brock can’t say it. Painfully embarrassed and furious this is being taken away from him.

“Bitch, we homos,” Jose’s sure voice cuts sharply through Brock’s self loathing, making his eyes snap up in astonishment.

“I ain’t scared of a little doo doo. You already done seen mine. Remember Chicago when my pussy wasn’t prepped but we tried it anyway?”

Brock bursts out laughing, shaking his head. Yes he does remember that and Jose had managed to make that charming and hilarious and not awkward too. His eyes shine at the incredible little guy with gratitude and fondness. This man is amazing. He doesn’t deserve him standing there still looking at him like that.

“Sorry, Joan,” Jose adds, when they both remember her in the kitchen doorway, looking a little shocked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really struggling with loss of work due to COVID 19. If you enjoyed this story, or any of my writing (or hate it but feel like doing something nice today!) please consider [sending me a digital cup of coffee](https://poppedthep.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> If even half the people who see this did it, it would make a huge difference! 
> 
> If you can’t or don’t want to, that’s cool. People here are the best. You are totally welcome to continue enjoying my stories no matter what!


	2. Chapter 2

So Jose stays over. They’re in bed.

Brock’s mom got him ready while Jose brushed his teeth in the guest bathroom.

Now they’re kissing and kissing and kissing. It’s overwhelming. It’s everything Brock didn’t know he needed, didn’t think to hope for. He hadn’t come to terms with things enough to even think this far yet.

He was excited about the possibility of pecks and cuddles but as soon as they got in bed and his mom closed the door, Jose was all over him like nothing had changed.

It’s making him feel human again. Extra real, sensual, desirable the way Jose looks at him. The way he’s affectionate but not at all careful with him, still treating Brock’s body like it’s his playground, his treasured territory, to grab and touch and use. Throwing himself into it with as much passion as he did when Brock would use his stronger body to pin him to mattresses.

“Missed you bitch,” Jose rumbles into his ear.

Brock is so overwhelmed all he can say is, “Yeah,” nodding his head as much as his neck will allow.

Jose has quickly figured out how extra sensitive Brock’s face, neck and ears have become since the fall and he’s paying them generous care. Dragging his plump lips over them, sucking, kissing, blessing them with attention. It feels as hot and sensual as anything they’ve ever done. They definitely didn’t feel like this before the fall, as if they’re trying to make up for reduction in feeling in the rest of his body.

He can’t feel much of Jose’s body pressed up against him but he knows he’s hard from the way his breath hitches. He remembers the cues in the series of looks that flash across his face. That he can still get Jose hard even with his body like this makes him feel, frankly, amazing.

“Can you…?” Jose is pulling at his sweatpants, looks down Brock’s numb body to where his dick used to work.

“I don’t know…I don’t think so.” His mind rushes.

There’s been no sign that he can, but he hasn’t had cause to investigate it. He’s had other things on his mind. He assumed the answer would be a no and, like the thought of moving back to Toronto, he didn’t want to face it.

But now he has a pressing reason to. A reason that’s pressing up against him sucking on his neck.

He can’t feel it but he can see Jose slipping a hand in his sweatpants, looking for evidence. God he wishes he could feel that. His face and neck feel like a raw nerve but below that it’s nothing but the dull general pressure of Jose’s body against him.

“That’s okay,” Jose removes his hand, evidently finding nothing there. He strokes Brock’s jaw, tenderness in his eyes, kissing along it with care.

Jose is being unreasonably sweet about it but Brock is furious with his penis.

Sex used to be one of Brock’s favorite things.

Then he thought it would never be an option again.

Now he’s in bed with his very willing ex panting into his neck and it’s not fair.

Brock wants a sex life.

Jose sucks on his lower lip, rolling it between his teeth. Brock bites back, feels heat pool low in his belly and remembers he can still move some things.

“Can you…my mouth...you could...?” Brock has sucked so much dick in his life but he feels embarrassed to say it now.

Jose gets it anyway, dragging a thumb over Brock’s full bottom lip, always ready to talk dirty freely,

“You want me to fuck your mouth baby?” a low turned on hum.

“Yesss,” Brock hisses, chasing his thumb to suck it like a promise.

It’s awkward.

Jose has to move him into place and he can’t move his neck enough to bob his head properly so Jose has to do a lot of the work.

But Brock gives it his best with his mouth, tongue, lips. Relishes the soft bump of Jose’s head choking the back of his throat. No one would watch this in a porno but it still feels intimate, connected, feels them. An exploration they’re doing together.

He doesn’t feel as ridiculous as he feared and Jose is still looking at him like he’s the sexiest thing in the world, hands on either side of his head holding him in place, thumbs massaging circles into the sensitive skin near his ears. Such a fast learner. So eager to please him. Such a good boy.

It becomes clear though that he won’t be able to come like this and eventually Jose says, “Come here,” scooting down until they’re face to face, laying Brock back on the pillow.

He kisses him deeply and cups Brock’s hand beneath his own around his dick, only flinches slightly from how cold Brock’s skin is. If he wasn’t so easy to read he would have been able to hide it.

That’s the most flattering thing about this. Jose is incapable of faking anything. A completely open book for every little thought that flits across his fascinating little brain. Seeing him like this Brock knows he really means it. He still finds Brock sexy, still wants him like he used to.

“Yes, baby, that’s it, just like that,” Jose purrs as he finds the rhythm he likes with their hands, like he’d say if Brock was actually fucking him.

And if this is as close as Brock can get now to sex it’s still completely wonderful compared to what he thought he’d have.

Jose climbs up his body to get a better angle to suck on his sensitive neck and Brock sees rather than feels him pause.

“Brock,” he whispers against his mouth, like they’re about to get caught.

“What?”

“Lookit,” Jose tilts Brock’s head down so he can see his own dick half hard through his sweatpants.

Jose pulls them down and wraps a hand around it immediately, forgetting his own, attention fixed on it like a wonderful surprise that could go away at any moment.

Which is exactly what it is.

He can feel the faint pressure of Jose’s hand grasping, moving, but muted, as though through deep water, nothing like it would have felt before. Nothing like Jose’s kisses feel on his neck. But his dick is responding to the attention, filling with more blood, growing fatter, more erect.

Jose raises his eyebrows at him.

“You wanna try…?”

Brock is nodding even as he’s reluctantly warning, “But you’ll have to do everything,”

And Jose is already pushing him full on his back saying, “That don’t matter baby. You lie back, I’ma take care of you.”

“No wait, can I sit?” Brock asks, “So we can kiss?”

“Of course baby,” Jose smiles, pleased.

“The kissing is good,” Brock grins coyly, sticks his tongue out a little. “Really good.”

“Damn right it is,” Jose preens proudly.

Then there’s a moment of awkwardness as they shuffle around. As accommodating as Jose is being, Brock is still 6”3 of heavy Canadian for a little guy to move.

Eventually he’s in position and Jose is in his lap. He takes both Brock’s hands in his and runs them all over his body. Up his ribs, around the curve of his waist pulled slim by so many corsets, squeezing his soft ass cheeks that fill their hands. Brock’s hands are less cold with the heat growing between them but Jose’s nipples still pucker when he drags them across his chest.

Although he can’t feel much through his hands, the visual of Jose in his lap enjoying it combined with the memory of what he knows Jose’s body feels like, having memorised each part by touch long ago, are working together. His dick continues to grow between them.

“Love your hands on me baby, love your sexy mouth,” Jose is soft and encouraging, talking through it, like he used to before the break up.

Things got a little awkward after. Though they carried on sleeping together almost immediately, Jose soon started to pull back, trying not to show the full intensity of his reactions, almost like a weird point of pride, like he was trying to prove he could hook up and not care about it. Especially after they publicly announced they were no longer together. Brock noticed, obviously, but never asked about it. It seemed like it would lead to an intense conversation he probably didn’t want to have, and he soon he got used to it, forgetting how different it used to be.

The fall seems to have unlocked the full force of Jose’s affection for him again. He hadn’t even realised how much he was missing it.

“Look at those lips. How you so perfect? Look at these beautiful eyes. Your hands, your fucking hands baby.”

Brock tended to leave talking during sex to Jose, who did it naturally, always feeling a little awkward with it himself. Maybe it was the Canadian in him.

But with so little at his disposal now and feeling totally safe to try anything with Jose, he whispers, “Yeah? You like me touching you?”

It’s worth it to see Jose’s whole body shiver at his words.

“Yesssss,” he hisses, grinding in his lap.

Brock delights in his response. He likes this. It feels like shades of his power, the sexual confidence he used to get from manipulating with his big strong body, coming back to him in a new way.

Jose leans forward for a kiss.

“Love them kisses. Sweet baby, sexy boy,” he drops Brock’s hands and offers two of his fingers at Brock’s mouth.

Brock grins, feeling like the boss again.

“Say please, Papi,” he breathes, soft but cool and confident against Jose’s fingers.

Jose’s breath catches with excitement and he breathes,

“Please,” voice low and cracking at the end.

“Good boy,” Brock says smiling smugly, feeling more like Brooke Lynn than he has since the fall.

Jose’s eyes light up, pleasure sparking in them, happily melting into their old dynamic.

He sucks Jose’s fingers, running his tongue along them teasingly, looking Jose dead in the eye. If nothing else, he can make this fucking sexy. Jose hums and moans and purrs watching him, running through a series of delicious noises.

When his fingers are dripping with Brock’s spit, Jose leans back and preps himself, chest glowing in the dim light, muscles tensing, biting his lip, pouting. He keeps eye contact the whole time, somehow hot and vulnerable at once.

Brock has always looked at him during sex. He’s a beautiful sight to behold. But having his attention so focussed on him due to the limited range of movement makes watching him even more intense. He can tell they both feel it, Jose practically trembling in front of him.

“Slower, baby,” he says with authority and Jose gasps and goes slower, his eyes darkening.

A tingle of satisfaction runs up Brock’s spine, delighted he can find ways to tease him without pinning him to the bed.

“Want some help?” Brock asks archly, really getting into his groove now, throwing his eyes down to his hands resting in his lap.

Jose nods eagerly, panting, grins, picks up Brock’s hand. Folds his fingers down except the first two, bringing them to Brock’s mouth.

Brock only has to raise an eyebrow and Jose is purring, “Please,” making Brock smirk like the cat who got the cream before he sucks them, strange to experience his own fingers numb like they’re someone else’s.

They also taste faintly like ass from Jose’s hand but he hasn’t gotten this far in life without getting accustomed to the taste of ass.

It’s not the easiest maneuvering for Jose to fuck himself open with both his fingers and Brock’s and Brock can’t really feel anything other than the warmth of it but it’s worth the effort to see the pleasure on Jose’s face at having his fingers inside him, to see him tremble all over again when he asks cooly,

“You like having me inside you huh, Papi?” Jose’s voice cracking on a moan, nodding hard, breathing too hard to speak.

He reaches back for a condom and Brock's brain briefly catches on the thought that he brought condoms. He wanted this before he even knew how bad Brock would be. He stops him before he tears the foil open with his teeth. 

"Wait, baby. Lie me down again first," Brock's smile spreads slowly, "Get your booty up here. Wanna taste you." 

Jose whimpers, eyes blown wide, mouth hanging open, nodding blindly, hurrying to comply.

It's a mission to move him again but worth it when Jose sits on his face, to feel his thighs shake against Brock's ears as his tongue dives inside him. He's already prepped so this is selfish, really. Indulgent. It's delightful to smother himself in Jose's ass, to swirl his tongue confidently and articulately round his rim, still with its full skillful range of movement. To hear Jose whimpering and biting out curses and calling for deities as he trembles around him. 

When he's indulged that whim enough they get him sitting him back up. Jose rolls a condom on him and eases himself slowly onto Brock’s dick, one hand on his face, holding their foreheads together. He has to go slow at first to take it all, just like always, only this time Brock doesn't need to dig his fingers into his hips to stop from thrusting before he's ready.

He feels a tight warmth, a dull pressure that’s more intriguing than wildly stimulating but he could probably come from the sounds Jose is making alone, as he starts fucking himself on it with abandon.

"Fuck yes, Jesus, fuck I missed you," Jose purrs as he rides him, "Nobody fills me up like you can, baby."

He kisses around Brock's sensitive ears and neck, biting just a little, softly sucking. At some point he brings one of Brock’s hands back around his dick under the guidance of his warm palm.

Brock tosses out commands here and there to see Jose getting all flushed and pleased at being bossed around but otherwise enjoys his eager pace, his frantic hands trying to touch everywhere at once, grabbing parts of Brock’s body for his own pleasure whether Brock can feel it or not.

After months of being treated like he’s made of glass, like a medical case, by everyone, it makes Brock happier than he can express to see Jose grabbing his body freely, possessive and unthinking, as if it's still his to play with, there for his satisfaction, not a specimen to be treated with caution. And he remembers what those touches feel like, his strong memories enhancing the faint input coming from his body.

He was always so physically free with everyone, overly intimate, and he appreciates Jose knowing that won’t have changed even though he can't do the moves himself. People being careful with him drives him crazy, it’s so irritating.

Already worked up from earlier, Jose doesn’t last long.

“Oh fuck, Brock, fuck im gonna…”

“Say please, baby” he says in his most aloof Brooke Lynn voice.

Jose’s whole body jerks in an effort not to come at that. He bites his lip and gets out,

“Please,” his voice absolutely wrecked with want.

“Good boy,” Brock kisses him warmly. “Come baby, come for me,” he commands softly into his mouth. Jose makes unintelligble noises as he comes in his lap, covering their stomachs.

His breathing is crazy for a few moments, it takes a minute for him to catch it. Then he looks down at where Brock is still hard inside him, and back up at him.

“Are you..?”

“I don’t know…” Brock can feel himself getting frustrated. He’s enjoying himself. There was something building. But it’s vague and slow, not the usual clear directed intensity of an orgasm.

Jose, unbothered, seems to take this as a personal challenge.

He pulls off of Brock’s dick and pulls the condom off. Shifts so he can pump it roughly with his hand while sucking on an earlobe. Runs his thumb along the bottom, over the head. Keeping an eye on Brock’s response, he starts stroking harder as he sees what works. Eventually he’s pumping so hard he’s practically wringing it out but it’s starting to resemble a familiar pleasant sensation.

“This okay?” Jose asks, because it’s definitely rougher than he’s ever been with Brock’s dick before.

“Yeah, yes, it’s good it’s…” Brock cuts off when a moan comes out involuntarily. “It’s really good, Papi.”

Jose is delighted, spurred on, kissing lightly along his ear as he murmurs sweetly,

“You wanna come for me baby? My fine sweet man, my sexy man. Come on baby, I know you got that good juice for me,” alternating between sweet and gravelly, making the hair stand up on the back of Brock’s neck.

He rubs his cheek against Brock’s and Brock has never been so overwhelmed by cheek rubbing. The contrast between the smooth tops of their cheeks and the scrape of their stubble together is delicious, each maddening in different ways. Jose notices how much he likes it and does it again and again, rubbing his cheek as he purrs a stream of affectionate encouraging filth in his ear, hand pumping steady between them,

“You fucked me so good baby. You know how to get me there, you always get me right. Teasing me real good, got me all hot for you. My favorite dick in the world. And your fuckin mouth, your fuckin tongue, baby. Love to ride you, love how you give it to me, lo quiero papi, siempre lo quiero. He estado pensando en ti, solo puerdo pensar en ti.”

The sensations get overwhelming. Jose, his smell, the pull and twist of his hand, the brush of his lips near his ear, his cheek against his sensitive cheek. The intimacy, the memory of being inside him - the pre-fall full color HD version - it builds and hits him until it feels like his whole body is coming, blood rushing to his cheeks, breathing heavily, an awkward little jerk rippling through parts of his body.

Jose grins proudly like they’ve completed a puzzle together and tilts Brock’s head down to see he’s come a little bit of thin watery liquid on to Jose’s fist.

Nothing to write home about but he feels the release of having come, even slightly, and the elation of discovering he has a somewhat working penis.

Jose stays in his lap for a minute, sharing the same breaths, nuzzling his face, not wanting to end the moment. Brock is perfectly happy with that. He rocks his head, chasing Jose’s face around with his, cuddling aggressively with his nose like he would have with his arms if he could have swept him up in them.

Then Jose is getting a damp washcloth from the bathroom and cleaning them up.

“I need to pee.” He winces. “Sorry. You can get my mom.”

“No, I got you,” Jose is ducking under his arm to haul him to the edge of the bed.

“It’s okay, she’s used to it.”

“Bitch, she a tiny lady. I got you."

"You wanna help me put in a catheter?" Brock asks doubtfully, raising his eyebrows.

"Who dat?" Jose answers instinctively, not missing a beat, face blank, and Brock cracks up giggling.

His mom does it but Jose sits on the edge of the bath watching closely. To learn, he says. Brock allows it. There's not much he wouldn't allow Jose after tonight. He doesn't know what to think about Jose wanting to, the why of it is too much to even process.

"Ouch, boo," Jose says, eyes wide, mouth hanging open a little in fascination.

"Can't feel it, remember?" Brock smiles at him wryly.

"Damn. You a tough bitch, huh?" Jose winks at him, grins.

Even though she met Jose when they were dating and close as this he can see his mom is continually surprised by Jose tonight. (Get in line, mom). But she keeps her surprise to herself, leaves them to it as soon as she can. Brock spares an embarrassed thought that his mom was only down the hall from them tonight and as ever Jose was definitely not quiet. Given the circumstances he's not as mortified as he could be. If anything she should be happy for him. 

“Wanna lie down?” Jose asks when they're back in bed.

“Yeah.”

“All right, let’s see if I can move your heavy ass,” Jose is smiling at him, doing his Sorry I’m Being Mischievous But Aren’t I Cute smile, joking. Kissing his cheek in apology.

They lie him down and Jose gets into bed next to him. They’re quiet for a moment, Jose tracing patterns on his abs and chest

“You know I can’t feel that right?” he says eventually.

“Yeah bitch. This for me” he laughs as he runs a thumb along the vs at Brock’s hips, licking his lips, mouth practically watering. “It’s been a minute.”

Brock laughs and appreciates the familiar hungry awed look Jose always gives his body even more than he used to.

He lets him drag his eyes across his expanse of creamy skin, brush his lips over it, lick up those vs, enjoying the sight of it if not the feeling. Until he sees his dick start to stir as Jose gets near it. Not wanting to go through the intensity of trying to do that again right now, he goes to pull Jose up and then remembers he can’t and instead says, “Get up here.”

Jose scoots up so they’re face to face, looking in Brock’s eyes, curling a lock of his hair around a finger. Their faces are close and they don’t need to say anything, they just smile at each other and it’s nice.

But Brock also wants to feel as much of Jose’s body as possible with the parts of him that still work. Wants to enjoy as much intimacy as he can while he has the chance. Who knows when he’ll have a chance like this again. Almost shyly, he asks,

“Can I lie on your chest?”

“Of course baby.”

Jose gets out of bed to pull Brock down by his feet a few inches, the easiest way to move his head to the right level.

“So the doctors fix you all up but they didn’t do nothing bout these nasty feet huh?” he asks cheekily, cackling and Brock is glad he can still roll his eyes and shake his head exasperatedly.

Jose hops back in bed and cradles Brock’s head to him.

His skin is soft and warm against Brock’s sensitive cheek, his body buzzing with vibrant contained energy beneath him. Jose scratches short nails over his scalp making him want to purr.

Even knowing how sweet and thoughtful Jose is, he’s still absolutely floored at how much he’s taken everything in stride. How generous and affectionate and caring he’s being. How he’s acting like nothing has changed. If anything more affectionate than before. How Brock gets to have one little piece of his life back completely even though nothing else will ever be the same.

“I don’t deserve you,” he sighs into Jose’s warm skin.

“Too bad, bitch. Got me anyway. Ain’t nothing you can do about that,” Jose replies sleepily, stroking his neck, his earlobes. It feels wonderful, overwhelming, so sensitive.

“You already know I woulda got over your bad news ass by now if I could. It’s just us, Toes. This how it is between us.”

He hasn’t called him Toes in so long. Brock’s heart flutters.

He loves how Jose can switch between being soppy and sensitive and crass and harsh in an instant. But he still can’t get over Jose’s reaction to all this. Or his lack thereof.

“But to see me like this and still be how you’re being? You’re amazing.”

“Bitch, you could be a eyelash and a fingernail and I’d still be tryna snuggle all up on you before any other ho. _You’re_ amazing.”

Brock laughs, never more grateful that Jose is a ridiculous romantic.

He doesn’t know many people who would have this supportive a reaction to this situation, would treat someone this generously. Even if they had love for the person from a previous relationship and had been recently hooking up, like the two of them. He knows people who might even struggle if it was someone they were currently dating, even married to. He’d like to think he wouldn’t freak out, that he could be there for someone and act like nothing had changed, especially if it was someone he loved, but he seriously doubts he’d take it as well as Jose.

He feels so incredibly connected to him. More than he has with someone in a long time, maybe ever. Certainly more than anyone since they were last in this bed together and dating, what feels like a lifetime ago.

He sighs, perfectly content in a way he never thought he could be again.

“Thank you. For everything. I haven’t felt this good since before the accident. Like way before,” he accidentally says out loud.

Jose just hums in response, evidently getting sleepy. For someone so loud a lot of the time he gets so soothingly gentle and soft when he’s tired, the rumble of his voice getting even deeper.

Henry came in when Jose went out to get the washcloth. He joins Brock on Jose’s chest, cuddling into his face.

Henry was quick to catch on that Brock can’t cuddle with his hands anymore and now always comes near his face for snuggles.

“Henry get me. We can’t keep our asses away, right, lil puss puss? He too cute.”

Brock chuckles. Jose runs a hand over Henry’s head and gets shown some kitty affection too. Jose yawns deeply and the mood settles. It’s peaceful and silent except for Henry’s purrs.

“I love you,” Brock says into the quiet.

“You talkin to me or Henry?”

Brock laughs, “You.”

He feels Jose’s hand run through his hair down the side of his face, tilting his chin up.

“Love you too.” He gives him a sweet soft kiss.

Brock wants to stay awake and savor his favorite night in months but soon he finds himself slipping off to sleep.

His dreams are a jumble of memories of him and Jose before the fall mixed with flashes of that night, the intense intimacy of it, the new feelings in new sensitive places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really struggling with loss of work due to COVID 19. If you enjoyed this story, or any of my writing (or hate it but feel like doing something nice today!) please consider [sending me a digital cup of coffee](https://poppedthep.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> If even half the people who see this did it, it would make a huge difference! 
> 
> If you can’t or don’t want to, that’s cool. People here are the best. You are totally welcome to continue enjoying my stories no matter what!


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning he wakes up disoriented at the dull sensation of a body against his, in a position different than he’s been sleeping every night since the fall.

Jose has rolled over in his sleep and pulled Brock’s arm around with him, scooted back against him so they are forcibly doing an approximation of spooning, his hand clutched tight to Jose’s chest like a talisman, keeping him in place.

He wishes he could wake Jose up by rolling on top of him and kissing him.

Instead he drifts in and out of sleep until Jose wakes up, enjoying the smell of him in his room, grateful for once that he can’t feel his extremities because if they weren’t already numb, some of them would be now.

Jose yawns awake looking alarmingly like Henry.

He gets the hint from Brock’s expression and moves them so Brock’s face is nestled in the warm skin of his neck again. Pressed close against it, enjoying all the sensation while he can.

Jose smells like multiple different things, many of them obvious from miles away, but Brock’s favorite of Jose’s smells is the clean simple scent of his skin. It’s soothing in the way his childhood blanket was. Maybe his sense of smell is newly heightened too, but it’s been a while since he appreciated how much he likes that smell.

Then again, it’s been a while since he got to enjoy a handsome man’s body beneath him in general, and Jose is as gorgeous to wake up to as he was last night. The warmth of him beneath his cheek, skin soft but chest hard beneath that, thrumming with energy. The lightness he feels just from being in his presence.

“Don’t go,” Brock says softly, only realising as he hears it that he said it out loud.

“I got to,” Jose sighs sadly. “Got a gig tonight in Florida.”

 _Cancel it, stay,_ he almost asks but instead he says, “It was good seeing you.”

“You too, Toes.” he says around a yawn. “Damn. We gotta get a new nickname for you, you can’t be Twinkle Toes no more,” Jose gets a wicked gleam in his eye. “Cheeks. Twinkle Cheeks.”

“Shut up. The worst thing about being paralyzed is that I can’t cover your mouth to make you shut up.”

“Cover it with kisses, bitch,” Joses leans down and hovers an inch from his mouth until Brock kisses him.

“So you gonna text me back now then?” he asks as he pulls back. “I done seen your voice texting mumbo jumbo equipment now so you ain’t got no excuse.”

Brock laughs, “Yes. I will.”

“Bitch you better. I missed you.”

“Missed you too. I’m sorry. It wasn’t you. It was this. I didn’t know if...I couldn’t…”

“Shhh. It’s okay, baby. I know,” Jose’s hand is gentle in his hair.

They’re quiet for a long moment. Jose’s voice is shaky when he starts speaking again.

“Just. Fuck, I wasnt gonna say this,” he stops himself and Brock tries to move his head enough to look up at him properly.

He exhales hard through his nose. It’s hard to tell without seeing his face if he’s upset or angry.

“I know you been through a lot. I know it ain’t fair to be mad at you. I ain’t mad.”

Angry, then.

He takes a deep shuddery breath. Maybe both.

Considering even _Yvie_ cried, he should have known it was too good to be true to get through this visit without any tears.

“Just. When I saw the video of you fall,” A shudder goes through Jose’s body.

“And you ain’t text for months. Ain’t respond to nothing. I gotta read about it on Perez Hilton and you won’t talk to me. I gotta find out you alive from _Plastique_. It’s….”

Jose stops himself, swallows thickly, breathes heavily. Brock can tell he’s trying to stop himself crying. Jose hates to cry, especially when he’s trying to look strong, and he feels so much, cries so easily.

“I know you was goin through some fucked up shit and it all good. Just. Don’t fuckin do that to me again, okay?”

Tears sting the back of Brock’s throat like they always do when he talks about serious things. He hates it too. _Don’t cry. Don’t cry._

“Okay,” he says quietly, ashamed.

He didn’t even think it could have affected Jose that badly. He should have.

Of course he was so wrapped up in his own pain he can’t be blamed for any decisions he made right after the fall but now he thinks maybe he should have included Jose in the people closest to him. His brothers, his sisters, Steve. The ones he talked to even through the pain, even when he couldn’t face anyone else. They’d gotten pretty far from that level of closeness by then, but maybe they shouldn’t have.

Hit with experiencing the full force of him again, Brock realises Jose was holding back more feelings in their friends with benefits state than he realized. It went on like that for so long he forgot how deeply Jose actually feels, about everything, including him.

Jose is still trembling with suppressed emotion beneath him. He so badly wants to take him in his arms and comfort him, stroke his back, hold him tight and reassuring, be strong and okay and the big guy again.

He was always so so so much better at expressing himself through actions and physical affection than words.

But he can only lie there. So much of how he used to operate is impossible now. And he’s still bad at words so he just presses his cheek into Jose’s chest harder.

“Bitch, after missed call number twenty five I nearly flew my ass down here and broke that door down, you know what I’m like. If I’da known for sure you was here I probably would have,” Jose tries to lighten the mood with joking, though Brock wouldn’t be surprised if that is close to the truth.

“You got any gigs coming up?” Jose asks, letting out a deep breath, changing the subject like that isn’t a ridiculous question.

“What? No. How could I?”

“You could do your reading thing. You good at reading. You always was. Plus I seen your videos on the Youtubes. Very funny, Miss Brooke Lynn.”

“I couldn’t do a show. I can’t even get ready for a show. I can’t put on makeup.”

“Somebody do it for you in them videos.”

“Not well.”

“You pretty enough to pull it off,” as much as he hates this conversation, Brock can’t help his little smile at the compliment.

“You could host,” Jose continues, carding fingers through Brock’s curls thoughtfully.

“Or lip sync just your face.” He gets excited, “Like a box! You could be in a big box!”

“What?” Brock has no idea what that means but it doesn’t sound like something he wants to do.

He feels Jose shrug, whatever genius idea he had passing as soon as it came.

“Do whatever, Mary. Everybody love you. They won’t care what you do.”

“No, everybody loved my dancing,” Brock corrects bitterly.

He doesn’t really want to talk about this, it’s too painful, but it’s not like he can get up and walk away or lie there and ignore him.

“Yeah but not just that,” Jose pushes.

“Okay, they also loved my body. I was sexy and they wanted to fuck me.”

“That ain’t true,” Jose protests.

“Excuse me?” Brock is surprised into joking, lifting his head as much as he can, mock offended. Jose laughs. He shifts so they’re looking at each other.

“Well yeah, it true. But not just that. They loved who you were.”

“Sure. That’s why everybody read me for having no personality. Called me the ice queen.” Brock says sarcastically, “They had to add in conversations on the show to prove I had feelings. No one falls in love with that. You should know, you were the opposite. Everybody loved you.”

“ _I_ loved you.”

“That’s not what we’re talking about. It’s not the same thing. Besides even you wouldn’t have loved me without loving my body first.”

“Look, I ain’t sayin you ain’t a snack. Lord knows I’m first in line to say you trade the house down baby,”

“Was,”

Jose clicks his tongue,

“Obviously we have a difference of opinion. I ain't gotta stop thinkin your ass fine just cuz you can't shake it. On the bright side, bitch, maybe it'll keep you outta trouble.”

He can only really see Jose’s eyes from this angle but he can tell he’s pursing his lips.

“All I’m saying is maybe that what got their attention, but if they love you, they love you. Ain’t nothing gonna make no difference. It don’t matter what you do next, just as long as you don’t quit, bitch. Just keep on being you.”

Jose actually does give good advice on this type of thing. It’s why he went looking to him for a pep talk before snatch game on their season. But Jose’s advice is not always realistic or successful for anyone who’s not Jose. Snatch game in point.

“You want to think the best of people, but the world isn’t like that. I’m telling you, nobody’s gonna love me now.”

He’s thought it often enough since the fall but it hurts Brock’s heart to hear himself say it out loud. He breathes, tries to focus on not crying.

“I’m here ain’t I?” Jose says softly, hand going back to his hair.

“Yeah, you are,” Brock sighs. He still can’t quite believe it but he is. “Not everyone is as crazy as you.”

“Maybe not, ho. But I bet you there more of us than you think. You gotta put yourself out there in the universe and good things will come. I promise. Bitch, it work for me every time.”

“Well, we can’t all be Vanjie,” he doesn’t mean to make digs when Jose’s trying his best to be lovely, but he’s getting emotional.

“You don’t gotta be. Just be yourself baby. People love…” Brock can’t keep going over this so he cuts him off.

“..I really don’t wanna talk about it okay? I’ll get upset. Dancing, my body, it’s who I was. It was the only good thing I brought. What am I now? What do I have to offer as a queen, as...Nothing.” Brock swallows the lump in his throat, feelings spewing up threatening to choke him.

Jose leans up on his elbow so he can see his whole face, Brock’s head slipping back to the pillow.

“It ain’t who you was, it what you did. Who you are is Brock.” Jose’s free hand traces his face. “Brock got a lot to offer. And you still you.”

“What about Brooke Lynn?” Brock hasn’t properly voiced these fears to anyone yet and as horrible as it feels, it’s also kind of good to get them out.

Jose runs fingers across his eyebrows, his cheekbones, then his lips and Brock puckers to kiss them instinctively.

“You still Brooke Lynn too.”

Jose looks at him fiercely when he says it, with such conviction it’s impossible not to believe him.

Tears burn in his eyes. Jose wipes them away when they fall.

“How bout this - I got a gig at Play in a couple weeks. How bout we do it together? I’ll do your makeup. And if they get bored of your no personality paralyzed ass, at least Vanjie can tell jokes and shit.”

Brock blinks away tears, laughing.

“I know you ain’t about to say no _the_ Miss Vanessa Vanjie Mateo.”

“You doing my makeup would be worse than that makeup artist,” Brock says thickly, through tear-clogged sinuses, “I’d be serving Banjie girl realness.”

Jose immediately cracks up laughing at the idea of Brock turning a look anywhere near Banjie,

“Sure, bitch, keep dreaming.”

But eventually Brock gives him a reluctant yes to a gig together the next time he’s in town. It feels scary but there’s something about being around Jose that makes you feel like you can do anything.

Brock’s mom comes in with breakfast. Jose feeds it to him in bed, waving his mom away with another cute,

“I got it, Joan, babe, thank you.”

His mom smiles at Jose but looks to Brock for confirmation before leaving.

Jose gets up three times to refill Brock’s grown up version of a sippy cup with its inbuilt straw and doesn’t complain at all, which is, honestly, the biggest change in his behavior Brock’s seen all visit.

All too soon it’s lunchtime and Jose is driving away and the house feels unbearably quiet without him.

 

///

 

Before the fall Brock would have spent a few hours or less reflecting on how much he enjoyed Jose’s company and the sex last night and then moved on to the next thing in front of him, which would have taken over his full attention.

Now all he has in front of him is time to think about how he misses Jose. Already.

On the other hand, his experience with Jose gives him the confidence to start thinking about picking up trade and hitting on cute boys again.

It’s different. A lot harder than it used to be. His options have drastically decreased, although from basically anyone in any room he walked into, anything would be a drastic decrease.

But he’s surprised there are people who are into it. Even some cute people he’s interested in back. It definitely helps he’s gaymous Brooke Lynn Hytes, legendary in some circles, and that his body still has some of its muscle tone with all the physio he’s been pushing himself to do, that he still has a pretty face.

He has some nice dates, some decent conversations. He’s not really the dating type but it feels like he should put some work into that side of things now to make sure they’re both fully comfortable with each other and on the same page before getting to the mechanics of figuring out sex in this unpredictable body.

His wild flirting ways are curtailed by the fact that he has to have his mom or a nurse around at all times which makes it a whole production, a very awkward team effort, to go trawling bars looking for trade. He was never big on clubs anyway.

The apps become his friend. He had deleted Grindr before the fall but soon he has that and Jack’d and a bunch of others he’d never even heard of before. The bio is an opportunity to clearly state his situation and filter out anyone who’s not into it or obviously only into it for the story, and Brock has always taken a stunning picture. He only uses recent pics, nothing from before the fall, out of principle.

Sex doesn’t work as well with other people.

Maybe it should have been obvious but the lack of intimacy, the absence of a shared history before the fall for his mind to draw on subconsciously takes a lot away from the build up. Though he has some interesting experiences, none of them are amazing, connected, soul changing sex.

People are considerate, respectful, hot even, but no one else is so affectionately there to care for him and please him like Jose was. So unreservedly familiar and enthusiastic and comfortable with him. Anything less than that doesn’t seem to work right for his temperamental body.

One of the okay experiences is with one of the cute nurses he finally starts flirting with, turning a routine bath into a sensual make out.

Brock loves kissing. Always has, even when he had his full body at his disposal. He asks the guy to kiss his new sensitive places. The nurse obliges enthusiastically and they’re still maddeningly sensitive, though not in the same league as when Jose was doing it. The guy’s kisses are a little too sloppy to be really magical, and his lips aren’t as soft as Jose’s. But he's a redhead, freckles everywhere, and Brock loves a ginger.

“You can touch me,” he says as the guy hovers shirtless on the edge of the tub, keen but careful. “Touch me wherever you like.”

“You won’t really feel it though,” the guy protests.

“But you can enjoy it,” he tries to encourage him with his eyes, determined not to think about how Jose would have shivered all over if he’d said that to him and already thrown himself in his lap by now.

The guy ends up naked in the bath with him, running hands up his chest, but he looks kind of awkward doing it.

“You’re still in pretty good shape, you know,” the guy winks, like that’s supposed to be a great compliment.

Brock wants unselfconscious salivating at the sight of him, adoration for his body shining from his eyes. Anything less is, frankly, insulting, and hardly worth it.

He doesn’t have the luxury of turning away attractive and willing as freely as he could have before though, so he says,

“You’re not looking so bad yourself,” and winks back.

They keep kissing, water sloshing around them, until they’re both hard. The nurse wraps one hand around each of them, starting to jerk them off, and it just feels a bit meh. Perfunctory more than passion.

He wishes he could get on top of him and kiss him all over, count the freckles on his skin with his tongue. 

“Use my hands, touch yourself,” Brock tries. The guy does, laughing, “They’re cold,” even in the warm bath. And of course they are, he doesn't need to be reminded.

“Mmm, yeah. You like that daddy?” the nurse asks, wrapping Brock’s hand around his dick, followed by,

“You can’t actually feel it though, can you? Is it just the visual?”

And when the other person isn’t overcome with pleasure at having your hands on them, just doing it because you asked, waiting to see what you’re getting from it, perfectly nice but fairly cold and clinical, he finds it doesn’t do much for him.

“Yeah daddy likes,” he says, though, because it’d be too awkward not to at this point. He lets it go on long enough that it won’t be obvious he’s ambivalent before asking the guy to switch back to jerking them both off together.

"That's a beautiful big cock daddy, I wouldn't mind riding that," the guy bites his lip, eyeing Brock's growing dick appreciatively and _thank you_ , that's more like it. 

They get a condom on him and try but the guy keeps tossing his head around moaning. Brock can only ask him to kiss his neck so many times, and even when he does it doesn't feel as intimate - obviously - they don't know each other that well. It starts to feel a little claustrophobic trapped there under this stranger, inside this stranger, unable to move. Fucking Jose Brock had still felt like he had the power of a top somehow, but here he feels more like a piece of furniture. The nurse's hips slow as he realizes Brock is softening inside him. 

"I don't think I can come like this. Sorry babe," Brock grimaces apologetically.

"That's okay daddy, I think a lotta people get that," he nurse answers and Brock gets lost in his thoughts wanting to ask about sex as a quadriplegic, wondering if the nurse means in general or that he's hooked up with others who experienced the same thing. Then worrying he's into quadriplegics, that Brock's fulfilling some kind of kink for the guy. Which he knows is ridiculous, it was Brock who started flirting with him, but once the thought is there he can't help being paranoid about it.

They go back to the double handjob. The nurse comes first and Brock clenches his teeth in frustration as his orgasm is hardly building.

“Harder,” he asks, through gritted teeth.

The nurse is intimately familiar with his body, which helps. And he’s big enough to pick Brock up bodily out of the bath and carry him to bed, where he sucks on his balls, licks his taint, around his asshole, tongues inside, as he pumps him hard.

He manages to get Brock having the ghost of what feels like an orgasm, though nothing comes out, and it doesn’t fully relieve the tension like coming should.

After three hook ups it gets awkward having him around all the time, feeling the pressure to make cute conversation when they’re not gonna be dating, and he has to request a change in staff for the guy’s shifts.

He resolves not to go down that road again.

He considers getting in touch with old hook ups to see if it works with them as well as it did with Jose. But anyone he’s on friendly enough terms with to ask would be someone he’d definitely see around again, another drag queen or someone working at one of the clubs. It feels too embarrassing to share with anyone he’s gonna have to see again that he trusts any less than Jose. Trusts with himself, his body, his feelings, but more importantly trusts to make any situation feel fine and fun and not weird.

He messages Jose a lot.

More than he ever did when they were dating. He has a lot more time on his hands now. And he wants the distraction. Jose is fun, funny, has always made him smile, whatever else was going on, and doesn’t fail to, still.

It gets to the point that he feels an excited little flutter every time he sees a message from him, which should be worrying but somehow isn’t.

Jose replies faithfully and promptly, wherever he is in the world, however busy, and it’s hard to tell if he’s humoring him or genuinely delighted by all the attention.

They flirt too. In social media comments like the old fake-Branjie days and even more in texts.

When he manages to curl the fingers of one hand in and out of a loose fist in physio he’s heady with pride and achievement, like when he did his first triple pirouette.

He sends Jose the video and gets,

“So I don’t gotta finger myself no more then?” with a peach and a pussy cat emoji and about ten winky faces and devil horns.

And later, “Seriously tho congrats Toes, I’m so proud lol” with lots of hearts.

Jose is ridiculous but he loves it. He loves how normal and desired it makes him feel.

He thinks about that night with Jose a lot. The closeness, how sexy it was. Hot and connected in ways he can’t even fully comprehend. His cheeks flush and his head swims when he thinks about it. One of the cruelest things about not being able to move is he can’t masturbate over it. He replays it in his mind anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really struggling with loss of work due to COVID 19. If you enjoyed this story, or any of my writing (or hate it but feel like doing something nice today!) please consider [sending me a digital cup of coffee](https://poppedthep.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> If even half the people who see this did it, it would make a huge difference! 
> 
> If you can’t or don’t want to, that’s cool. People here are the best. You are totally welcome to continue enjoying my stories no matter what!


	4. Chapter 4

They do the gig at Play about a month and a half later.

Everyone is so pleased to see Brooke Lynn out. He’s seen a handful of people on his rare supervised ventures to bars, but not most of them for a long time, even since he’s been local. The outpouring of love already makes him glad Jose forced him to do this.

The show goes well.

Brooke Lynn does her reading act and Brock realises he can do this, he can talk to a crowd on stage. He’s no Bianca Del Rio but he can improvise some funny reads and can play it off charmingly enough when he gets tongue tied. There’s certainly plenty to read about himself now, to break the ice and put the audience at ease, and his couple of practiced opening jokes go down super well.

Play makes sure everywhere is wheelchair accessible, clips a mic in front of Brooke Lynn easily enough and Brock can’t remember what he was scared of. It’s more work than it would have been before the fall but God it’s worth it. Maybe he could do this regularly. Even MC.

He even does a lip sync with jokey wheelchair choreography, serving face to the Gawds, and it’s nothing like Brooke Lynn Hytes used to be but maybe it’s something Brooke Lynn could be. The crowd scream for him, so supportive, showering him in tips and in love.

He and Vanjie do bits together which the crowd eat up. Vanjie slays her numbers, flinging her body around the stage like a firecracker, so breathtakingly energetic Brock forgets to be jealous because he’s so proud.

The whole room is so supportive and God he’s missed having that ecstatic crowd energy thrown back at him from an audience. He feels high afterwards, like he’s broken through a deep suffocating mud and can see the sun again.

People at the meet and greet tell him how far they’ve come to see him perform, that they’re so excited he’s doing live shows again, so proud of him, so inspired by him. They beg him to do another show soon, tell him how much they miss seeing him perform, even with his Youtube channel.

His mom’s car is piled high with gifts and he feels a deep warmth from all the love and support, like maybe anything could be possible in any type of body.

To realize people really do love him for him, not just for how much he can impress them with his body, is staggering. It’s lovely. It’s exactly what Jose said and he hates to admit he was right but is also so grateful to him for getting him here.

He was dreading posing for the meet and greet photos in his chair, a little traumatized at even the thought of it, imagining seeing them tagged all over social media forever.

He starts laughing with relief when they arrive at Play and he sees Vanjie requested a throne style chair in his rider for the gig. Jose leans down to wrap arms around his neck,

“Knew your vain ass wouldn’t go nowhere if there wasn’t a throne,” he says soft into his ear.

They both sit in it for the meet and greets, Vanjie proclaiming it’s her natural habitat, so he’s not even being given special treatment. He’s touched how thoughtful it was, amazed Vanj thought of it without Brock even having to voice his fears. Shouldn’t be so surprised that he knows him well enough by now to read his mind.

Jose is buzzing at his side as soon as they’re out of the dressing room after the show, his own drink in one hand, a tequila soda with a straw in the other, holding it up to Brock’s mouth so he can sip before Brock even thinks to ask for one.

When they were dating Brock often found it annoying and stifling how much Jose fussed over him, especially in public when he was around other people.

In weird irony it turns out needing constant care and assistance makes Jose’s overly attentive behavior the ideal amount.

Jose is still openly affectionate in full force like before they broke up. The shock of the fall and seeing him like this has made all his friends extra sentimental but he really notices the difference from how pulled back and closed off Jose had gotten. More than he even realized at the time.

His mom is sat there at the bar in case he needs anything but Jose doesn’t even give her the opportunity. When Brock laughs and dribbles tequila down his chin, Jose is wiping it up smoothly with the sleeve of his Gucci jacket like it ain’t no thing.

He took Brock’s makeup off after the show before his own, as carefully as he’d put it on. He even helps him to the bathroom when he needs to pee. Proudly inserts his catheter, looking at him with a bright smile like he's won a prize. 

"Yes very good, well done boo," Brock rolls his eyes, smiling fondly.

"I did good, right?" Jose beams. 

"You did very good," he sighs.

"Miss Vanjie Nightingale. At your service, baby," Jose preens proudly.

“You know you don’t have to take care of me like this. I have people to do this?” Brock knows it will fall on deaf ears but tries anyway.

“Yeah but they don’t enjoy it as much as I do,” Jose licks his perfect white teeth and winks.

“Any chance to get my hands on that beautiful dick, baby, you know me,” and it’s a joke but, yes, _that’s_ the level of enthusiasm Brock wants. And yes, maybe he has a big ego, but he's a drag queen, of course he does. Either way, his stomach flutters at the eagerness.

“Nice of you to sit still and _let_ me take care of you for once, hmm?” Jose says, popping his tongue.

Jose can be irritatingly smug and bratty, has unrealistic expectations and can’t help taking it out on Brock when he can’t meet them, but right now Brock doesn’t care. Right now he loves him, wouldn’t change a thing about him.

He’s so sweet and attentive in ways Brock needs and craves now, and Brock _missed_ him. Thought about him too much. He chats to everyone from his place at Brock’s side at the bar, lighting up the room, unofficially MCing the group conversation.

He kept the thigh high yellow lace socks and suspenders from Vanjie’s drag on with his boy shorts after Brooke Lynn complimented them. Between catching up with old friends who come over for a chat, it drives Brock to distraction that he can’t run his hands up and down those legs.

Vanjie is in peak catchphrase mode, holding court, and Brock is proud of him and delighted by him and wincing at the volume of his laughter. He catches Jose’s eye in a break in conversation and indicates with a raise of his eyebrow to come closer.

“I wish I could put my arm around you,” he says when Jose leans in. Jose smiles, pleased and sad,

“Me too, baby.”

Then he addresses it by climbing unceremoniously onto Brock’s lap, picking up one of his limp arms and draping it over his shoulder, linking their fingers to keep it there.

He places Brock's other hand high on his thigh, where Brock would have slid it if he could have moved, as though he's reading his mind. The raised hem of the lace stocking is just about distinguishable from the warmth of his skin if Brock concentrates. Seeing his hand possessively there makes him smile to himself whenever he looks down.

Jose carries on being the star of the room from his new seat atop Brock, effervescent and delightful, ducking his head to cuddle under Brock's chin.

A few people look unnerved at first, the annoying made of glass looks. They quickly lighten up as Jose shifts around indiscriminately, bouncing in ways that would probably be uncomfortable if Brock could feel anything.

Someone takes a photo of them. He scrunches his nose and pouts his lips, praying he doesn’t look terrible. Jose tilts his head cutely, swinging his feet.

The moment is broken when Jose shouts, “Bitch! You got a filter on?” right next to him, leaving Brock’s ear ringing.

“I ain’t too sure about this lighting, this might be a crime scene, ho” he adds imperiously, throwing a suspicious glare at the yellow overhead lights.

But it’s a nice photo.

In the photo they look like a couple, a gorgeous one at that, and you cant even see the chair.

He convinces the girl who took it to send it to him rather than put it on social media, but from the look in Jose’s eyes he can tell it will be ending up on social media at some point.

He kind of wants to make it his phone background but that would be ridiculous.

A bunch of people go back to Trey’s for beers and karaoke when Play closes. Jose persuades his mom he can take care of Brock and they go along too. He promises his mom he’s not tired. He doesn’t want this night to end.

The night air is unusually crisp for Tennessee, brisk and damp from rain that fell during the show, already drying on the ground, the earlier humidity broken, and it feels fresh, like good things are ahead for the first time in a long time. Everyone piles into Ubers, laughing and shoving and throwing around shade.

Brock hasn’t done this in so long, since way before the fall. He feels like he’s in high school or at summer camp. It’s simple joy that he misses. He feels drunk sentimental fondness for everyone. It takes a group effort to get him out of his chair onto the couch, everyone, drunk and laughing. But it’s too fun for him to feel awkward.

Being messy drunk with Jose is wonderful. He falls against Brock sloppily, limbs everywhere, hands under Brock’s t-shirt, his looseness making Brock feel looser even though he can’t flop around himself. After getting his own satisfaction from groping Brock’s back and abs under his shirt, he runs his hands all over Brock’s face, kisses his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the corners of his mouth, touches their tongues, lazily playful.

“You don’t have to be stuck here with me, go have fun,” Brock nudges him away with his nose.

“You’re fun,” Jose argues, pecking a series of little kisses against his mouth.

He floats between Brock and dancing, flitting around groups, making friends with everyone, always circling back to check on Brock. Plenty of people are sat lounging around on couches anyway so Brock doesn’t feel left out.

In fact screaming Time Of Your Life and Katy Perry and Madonna in a living room full of old friends, Brock feels wonderfully normal.

Across the room he spots a gorgeous Play bartender he used to flirt with. They never did end up sleeping together, rare for him in those days. The impulse crosses his mind to get up and go flirt now, before it catches up with him that he can’t. He tries to catch the guy’s eye to indicate he should come over, but he’s never looking.

Brock is still getting used to not being noticed, immediately, by everyone, when he enters a room. Or to being noticed then stared at awkwardly for the wrong reasons.

He doesn’t want to assume the lack of interest is because of his new state, but that bartender always noticed when he was in the room before, and used to flirt every time.

It’s not like he’s heartbroken over it, but it’s disappointing.

Some people are scattered on the couches but he’s also surrounded by people flinging their bodies around drunk dancing and he feels the familiar envy that he can’t.

But the longing is not as sharp as usual, muted by alcohol and the fun of the night, and seconds later Jose collapses drunk and warm against Brock’s side again. Puts his nose against his ear and sloppily whispers,

“You so pretty,” and Brock feels tingly warmth spread through him.

“What’s wrong Toes? Seen that frown from the kitchen baby,” he slurs.

Brock sighs. It won’t help to say it but Jose won’t leave it alone until he does.

“I wanna dance,” he sighs, slurring tipsily.

Jose smiles at him, eyes soft.

“I’ll dance with you, Twinkle Cheeks.”

Jose kisses his cheek, gets up and nudges his legs apart to stand between them. He leans over and grabs Brock’s shoulders, making them shimmy to “Bye bye Miss American Pie,” bopping along with him, wiggling his cute little butt.

It’s stiff and jerky and possibly not medically advisable, but Jose is a force of nature, and the way it makes Brock’s head toss around probably isn’t good for him but if he surrenders to it, lets his eyes half close and his drunk brain take over, it really does feel like bad dancing.

They shout-sing in each others’ faces, Jose screaming half the words wrong, then completely making up his own words, which are hilarious.

“From my bevvy and it’s heavy and my butthole is dry, singing this’ll be the day that I die, Bitch! This’ll be the day that I die,”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” bubbles up out of Brock delightedly instead of lyrics, as his head whips from side to side, smiling wide, and then Jose is in his lap, kissing him hard in front of everyone, most of them too drunk or occupied themselves to notice.

His lips are still oversensitive, neck feeling every brush of Jose’s hands amplified. Every suck of his lips when he kisses down there, soft and firm and perfect, leaving tingles in his wake.

Maybe he doesn’t get to go hit on that bartender trade anymore. Maybe he’ll never sleep with him now, nor with so much other trade. But he gets this. And how lucky that is.

 

///

 

He wakes up hungover with the dawn light shining in his eyes, on the same couch, Jose still in his lap, curled up asleep against his chest, their fingers linked so one of his arms stays around him. He feels so perfectly normal and young and reckless and social. It’s delightful.

Jose wrinkles his nose as he wakes murmuring,

“Something smell real funky baby,” sleepily. Yawning and rubbing his cheek against Brock.

Brock is mortified to realize his bladder lost control in the night.

His heart drops. He feels sick. Of course. Just when he was starting to feel like he could live like a normal person.

Jose, who was nestled up against him like a tired kitten moments ago, is suddenly wide awake and taking care of it.

He wipes him clean with a wet towel in the bathroom, far too familiar with every nook and cranny of Brock’s balls and taint. He takes off his boxers and puts them on Brock, yawning,

”You know I don’t mind going commando boo,” with a wink. They're much tighter on Brock but they just about fit. 

"You needa go again, baby? Want your catheter?" he's fishing around for it in the fanny pack across his torso - _does he have it in there? When did that happen? God this is too much._

"I'm fine," Brock says abruptly. (He's not fine.) "Can we just go home?"

Trey doesn’t have anything Brock’s size so before he can stop it Jose is accosting that Play bartender, who is similar in height and build to Brock, trying to convince him to give Brock his sweatpants and go home in his underwear. Brock wants to die.

“You don’t need pants ho, it warm out, you fine as hell, won’t nobody mind.”

The guy is reluctant, shooting Brock an apologetic glance, and Brock is going to die of embarrassment, feels a jolt of shame when he makes eye contact.

“Ho why you pressed? They just some old sweatpants, bitch. Ain’t even no Adidas or nothing. Here, buy yourself something nice,” Jose pushes a thick pile of folded $20s into the guy’s hand.

The aggressiveness isn’t working but Jose won’t quit, changing tactics.

“Come on babe. What your name?”

“Uh, Aaron.”

Aaron. That was it. Brock remembers him giggling the name into his ear what feels like a lifetime ago.

“Come on Aaron, babe, this your moment. You gon be a hero or a zero Aaron? Seize the day, bitch. Do your good deed. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron,” Jose gets the few people around them who are awake chanting his name until peer pressure gets Aaron to reluctantly give in and take off his sweatpants.

Brock has never wanted to die more. Maybe he’s already dead and this is hell.

Jose leaves Trey a blank check for the couch, calling them a car back to Brock’s, flitting around saying goodbye to all the friends he made, telling a few to dm him if they’re in LA.

He presses soft kisses into Brock’s cheek and neck on the ride home as Brock sits silent and mortified, staring at his hands, trying not to cry, until the skin crawling shame starts to uncurl from his chest, melting into something fluttery and sweet.

Letting himself really feel that is terrifying, so instead Brock tosses his head to shake Jose off and snaps at him,

“You didn’t need to make a big scene and have everyone chanting. It was embarrassing enough already.”

He’s not really mad, he knows Jose was just trying to lighten the mood of an unfortunate situation. He knows he was so sweet trying so hard to take care of him. But he didn’t ask him to do that. He didn’t ask for any of this. He feels stifled again and they’re not even dating. He’s so ashamed it’s making him angry at everything involved, including Jose.

“It’s ok baby, I know you ain’t really mad at me,” Jose says irritatingly patient and tries to lean his head on Brock’s shoulder. Brock shakes his cheek, shaking him off.

“Yes I am. How do you know I’m not mad at you? I am. I’m mad.”

Jose sits back, hurt, does a disbelieving little shake of his head, but keeps to himself for the rest of the ride.

After about fifteen minutes of staring aggressively out the window stewing in righteous anger, Brock feels it deflate, leaving just vulnerability and sadness. He could press on and hold his ground with the anger, but that’s a lonely path, and he doesn’t want to be alone.

He looks over and Jose is looking sad and delicate, his bottom lip practically trembling. He notices Brock looking and stiffens, affecting unbothered, face hardening, reminding Brock of how he looked before the fall when they were sleeping together and someone would ask if it got complicated with their feelings for each other.

Brock feels the fluttering again. It’s scary but seeing Jose like this when he could make it better makes him feel worse.

“If I could move I’d reach over and hold your hand now,” he says as a peace offering, looking back out the window.

He hears the rustle of movement on the seat and barely feels it but when he looks back Jose has slipped his hand into Brock’s, linking their fingers.

“Sorry” he says quietly. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

Jose smiles wetly. Brock puckers his lips the way Jose used to when he wanted a kiss and Jose leans up and kisses him.

 

///

 

His mom is only just waking up as they get in but when she hears what happened she immediately starts to draw him a bath. He waves her back to bed saying,

“It’s okay mommy, Jose can do it. Right, Big Guy?”

Because at this point he’s tired of fighting it. It’s insane and amazing and it’s probably too much. It’s more than he’d be able to do if the roles were reversed, he knows it is. But if Jose is gonna keep doing this so happily and easily and freely he can’t be expected not to fall into it with open arms. If his handsome trade ex boyfriend wants to wait on him hand and foot while he visits, wants to act like it makes absolutely no difference that he's become quadriplegic other than reminding him how much he cares, wants to give him enough attention in one day to make up for the drought that came before, well, Brock is only human.

Jose beams in response at the trust placed in him.

“You know I can baby, let’s give you the rub down, Toes,” with a wink.

“But only if I can get in too,” added just for him in his ear as he brushes past.

They’re so tired and hungover they fall asleep in the bath, Jose resting against his chest again.

Then Jose moves his flight so they can sleep the rest of the morning together in Brock’s bed. They’re in no state to attempt anything resembling sex when they get into bed but they kiss until they fall asleep, an avalanche of feeling overwhelming Brock again at each press of Jose’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really struggling with loss of work due to COVID 19. If you enjoyed this story, or any of my writing (or hate it but feel like doing something nice today!) please consider [sending me a digital cup of coffee](https://poppedthep.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> If even half the people who see this did it, it would make a huge difference! 
> 
> If you can’t or don’t want to, that’s cool. People here are the best. You are totally welcome to continue enjoying my stories no matter what!


	5. Chapter 5

They had planned for Jose to film a Youtube video with him before leaving.

When they wake up they have a couple hours to do it before he leaves.

They’re joking around, trying to make it fun, but Brock is struck with unshakeable melancholy. He really doesn’t want Jose to leave.

It’s so hard to be the one who stays. Both missing the person and being jealous that they get to go live it up while you're stuck here. It reminds him of when they were dating and Jose would fly in for a few days then take off on tour again just when they were getting comfortable, starting to find their rhythm together.

But this is worse because they’re not dating and Jose has no reason to visit again soon beyond casual friendship.

And it’s not like Brock has anything better to occupy his time here, or even the promise of something better in future. It's not like when they were dating and he felt like he was being held back from something more.

Jose is the best thing in his life now.

Maybe he always was. If he’d ever had the time and provocation to stop and peel back the layers of it he might have come to the same conclusion before now. But he certainly feels it hit him now like a ten tonne truck. Whether he was before or not, the way he’s stepped up since the fall, the way they’ve reconnected, has been amazing.

Brock is not free any more, never will be again. Now other people and options open aren't freedom. Getting lost in Jose til he forgets he's different now is the closest thing he's tasted to freedom since the fall.

The closeness they’ve gotten back has become more addictive than cigarettes. He doesn’t know how he’s going to last without knowing when he’ll see him again. Without it being next week or sooner. The texting is fun but he can’t live on texts when he knows how those kisses feel.

The video they’re doing is My Ex Boyfriend Does My Makeup - shamelessly cashing in on views after how well their Exes For Cash did a while back.

Something to feed the fans, plus the gag that Brock can’t do his own makeup now (though since he made that loose fist in physio he practices at least two hours a day trying to pick up a blending brush).

Jose is looking at him thoughtfully. He’s been subdued and thoughtful since Brock said don’t go and I love you to him about five times this morning, between morning breath kisses.

“What if we don’t do that?” He says when Brock reminds him of the video title.

“Hm?” Brock shifts his eyes from his notes to Jose, confused. “You think of something better?”

“Yeah I reckon,” Jose pauses too long before continuing and Brock notices his hands are shaking a little before he clenches them into fists.

“How bout instead of that we do My Boyfriend Does My Makeup?”

Brock scrunches his nose at him.

“Because you’d have to be my boyfriend for us to do that,” he says, confused.

“Right,” Jose looks at him meaningfully.

It takes a second before it sinks in, impossible as it is.

“You want to be my boyfriend?” Brock is, honestly, shocked.

“Nah I wanna be some other ho’s boyfriend. Can you pass the message on? Bitch, what do you think?” Jose snaps back nervously.

“You don’t need to snap at me. How am _I_ supposed to know you want to be my boyfriend?” Brock argues, reasonably.

Jose immediately bristles, the soft hopefulness fading, getting instantly defensive.

“You kidding, ho? That fall done knock your brains out too? I only done ask you like five hundred thousand times already. Are you fucking with me?”

He points a suspicious finger. “You know I can’t tell when you being sarcastic.”

He’s jumped from nervously hopeful to defensive aggression so quickly, looks wounded, old scars aggravated, snapping like a kicked puppy.

“But I mean you still want to?” Brock can’t believe it.

“Even with…” Brock gestures down at his body with his eyes.

“Even with, bitch. Even with,” Jose shakes his head like it’s a no brainer, a done deal.

Brock is taken aback. Being insanely sweet and affectionate with him on visits is one thing. Being his boyfriend? Committing himself to only  _this?_  That’s something else. Because it's Jose. He knows he can't be talking about anything other than full commitment.

“That's love, Mary. It don’t discriminate.” Jose bristles at Brock’s reaction, as though he could have dared expect anything else. Narrows his eyes like he’s suspicious now of Brock’s I love yous.

“Why you acting all surprised? Don’t play. This morning, last night, what was that? And last time I was here…Why you frontin like you ain’t been all up in my texts since I left? I thought we was on the same page, bitch. Don’t tell me you in a different fuckin book now.”

Jose looks all vulnerable and hurt, it’s horrible.

“No I wasn’t…”

“Bitch you tell a ho you love her and you don’t want her to leave enough times she gon start believing you. You gotta be careful with that mama,” he says, all rueful chagrin.

“No, I do! I love you. I love you so much,” Brock insists. Jose’s eyes light up for a second before he forces the emotion down and clicks his tongue, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t even think about it...being your boyfriend again it’s...I can’t ask you to do that.”

Even when his heart was screaming don’t go, Brock didn’t even consider this as an option.

“You ain’t asking. I am.”

“Really?” Brock doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so small, so embarrassingly hopeful. He has a lump in his throat.

“Really, bitch. Unless you still tryna run around and fuck everybody.”

“I kind of have been actually. Since I last saw you. You inspired me,” he smiles conspiratorially but he can see Jose is taken aback. It was possibly the wrong thing to say now, but better to be upfront and honest.

“Damn, ho, you something else,” Jose shakes his head, disappointment twisting the corners of his mouth down. 

“Oh, bitch. Of course you are. Of fuckin course he is and once again I’m a idiot. Look out hos, he be all over your asses even faster now, he on wheels. Hide them assholes, bitches.”

Brock knows it’s just a snap back from Jose’s hot emotions, he isn’t offended.

Jose urgently needs placating. He can see him shutting down, getting unreachably agitated. His fists are clenching, which is nearing the point of no return for him.

"You know I ain't sleep with nobody since I saw you again? Trade in every city throwing themselves at me and I'm texting your ho ass like a damn fool."

“You’re not a fool. Or an idiot. We're very different people, you know that. You’re amazing,” he urgently tries to recover.

Jose scoffs and Brock can’t grab him so he has to inject some authority into his usually soft tone when he says, “Look at me.”

Jose stills in surprise at the command and looks at him.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says firmly. “It was just...passing the time. Like how you play Pokemon."

"So why you out there chasin random Pidgeys and Rattatas when you texting Pikachu, bitch?"

Brock doesn't know Pokemon well but he knows enough to crack up laughing at that metaphor.

"Pikachu wasn't here! I wish you had been. And I thought we were just texting. I didn't know Pikachu was trying to...get in my ball...?" He tries to continue the metaphor and even Jose can't help an involuntary laugh slipping out at that.

"I promise. No one was anywhere near as good as you.”

“Yeah right,” Jose sulks petulantly, “Bet you say that to all them other hos too.”

“No, we have history. You love me.” He sees Jose’s lips purse in annoyance and quickly adds, “I love you. It’s sexy. It makes a difference.”

He swallows.

“It makes it better. Nothing else compares to that.”

“Ain’t that the fuckin truth,” Jose sighs, long weary and frustrated.

“You really want to be my boyfriend?” Brock can’t help his voice getting softer as he thinks about it, disbelieving. Can it really be that easy? After everything, and with everything they both have to deal with in their lives now.

“Don’t make me say it again, ho,” Jose is starting to look genuinely annoyed again, so Brock just says,

“Okay. If you’re sure,”

“If I’m sure? Bitch I _been_ sure. If _you’re_ sure, how bout that?”

“Okay okay.” He tries to calm him down but his placating tone has the opposite effect.

“ _Okay?_ " Jose shakes his head. Evidently that was the wrong answer.

" _Okay_ , he says" he does a bad impression of Brock, all high pitched and squeaky and unflattering. "Mary, I ain’t selling you a used car. This a highly exclusive, once in a lifetime Vanessa Vanjie special offer."

“Well, it's a five hundred thousand in a lifetime special offer, according to your earlier calculation,” Brock can’t resist teasing but immediately sees it’s not well received.

“Bitch if you don’t quit playing with me I swear to God my ass be outta here so fast…I’ma paralyze you all over again, ho.”

“I'm not playing you! I said okay!” Brock realizes he’s shouting. This isn’t going well. He hopes his mom can’t hear them.

“What else do you want me to say? Yes. Okay. It’s not like I can get up and sweep you off your feet. You’re gonna have to come to me.”

“You could look happier about it. We fighting already. This ain't very romantic, none of it,” Jose says unhappily.

“I’m not very romantic! You know that. And you love me anyway.” Brock says, being maybe a little bratty but again it’s better to be honest about it up top this time.

“Besides, they fight in The Notebook," 

Jose's face lights up. "You watched it?"

They'd been talking about it over text, Jose telling him he had no excuse now he had so much time to kill. 

"I tried. Made it through the first part and they were definitely fighting."

Jose sniffs, a little more impressed but still not pleased.

"And you're wrong. I am happy. You make me happy. You make me so happy,” he says sincerely and Jose’s grumpy frown involuntarily melts into the softest of smiles before he pulls it back.

“Like really really happy,” He says just to make him smile again. He chews on his cheeks to try keep the smile in but Brock sees it threatening to break, knows he's getting close.

“I told you I don’t deserve you,” he adds matter of factly. “You deserve everything, the world. You know I can’t give you all that. I can’t do even half of it. I'm willing to try, but if we're being realistic about it...”

Half of him hopes Jose will make this easier and walk away. The other half is starting to crack open and spill his aching guts everywhere like an egg.

“And I told _you_ it ain’t up to you if you deserve me or not. That not how it works. Lord, I wish it was, but it ain’t.” Jose tilts his chin proudly, defiantly. “You ever think you make me happy too? You ever think I don't care about the world? I just want you.”

He really is so handsome all the time, even when he’s angry.

And Brock knows he’s made him sad as often as he’s made him happy, even if Jose is willing to forget about the bad parts for the good.

But that doesn't mean it's how it has to be now. If they tried again, with things like this, there's a lot Brock would do differently. A lot he'd have to do differently but also things he'd change because he wants to.

“You know I can’t do heartfelt speeches. I can’t talk about feelings like you can. I love you. Even before I loved you, I knew you were special. I don't...that's all I can say. If you really want to shackle yourself to being my boyfriend,” Brock sighs surrenders to the mess of feelings fluttering madly at his ribs, “I’m not gonna stop you.”

Jose, who had been wide eyed and shining at the beginning of that speech, raises an eyebrow, unimpressed again with his phrasing.

“I mean _I_ want to, obviously, if you're sure you do. Let’s do it. Let’s give it another try.”

“No take backs this time bitch. No other Pokemons. You know I ain’t stand for no shenanigans.”

“No shenanigans, I promise, Pikachu,” Brock can feel himself starting to laugh but Jose looks serious still so he tries not to ruin it.

“You _sure_ , sure?”

And that is it he’s had enough now.

“Baby, I’m sure. Shut up and get over here and kiss me.”

Jose does, hands stroking his neck, twisting in his hair, lips so soft and tender against his. Brock’s heartbeat fills his ears and the terrifying fluttering threatens to consume him.

“You’re my boyfriend,” he says, smiling dumbly, as Jose pulls back from the kiss.

“Yeah,” Jose’s dumb smile matches his and he doesn’t get more than a step away before coming back and kissing him again.

 

///

 

“Oh one thing, though, you probably gotta move to LA,” Jose says, would-be-casual, as he’s setting up the camera.

Like he’s not bringing up one of the key points of contention in their original break up.

“Oh I do, do I?” Brock raises his eyebrows, bracing for a fight, but Jose’s fists aren’t clenched, he’s palms out, trying to sound reasonable.

“I just don’t think it’ll work with you here. It’d be like before. And you got no real reason to stay here now. So why put us through all that for nothing?”

“What about my mom?”

“She can move too. Joan my girl, we love Joan! And the kitties. Or she can go back to Canada. We’ll get all your access shit in my place. Or I’ll buy a new place with all that. You can live with me. I’ll help you. I done good yesterday didn’t I?”

Brock ignores the irrational Jose-logic leap from broken up to proposing they move in together, and that one day of being someone’s carer is nothing like a lifetime of it, to address the more obvious,

“You’ll be away touring most of the time.”

“My mom can help you. If you’re my boyfriend again, you’re family, she’ll do anything for you,” he shrugs, like it’s that simple. Jose’s mom has been perfectly sweet the few times he’s met her, but he wouldn’t consider them close enough to feel comfortable asking her to wipe his ass.

“Or you can get some helper hos like you got here,” Jose gestures to the nurse’s bag in the corner.

“Your friends can help. You got so many friends in LA. Some of them bound to be off of tour at some point. Them hos need rest. You got to let people help you. Everybody want you in their lives, bitch.”

Hearing himself say bitch, Jose corrects himself.

“Sorry, we dating now. Boo,” he replaces, tilting his head and doing an angelic smile.

Brock is tempted to argue out of habit but it really is the most logical solution now.

He had been avoiding acknowledging that he might have to move back to Toronto soon anyway. So why not LA?

He can already feel himself having to put the breaks on whatever crazy romantic ideas Jose is cooking up. Strapping him to the back of the Werq the World bus and sitting in his lap for the entire tour, no doubt. But he can talk him down from whatever it is. He has plenty of time.

LA could be nice. He thinks about how Jose’s chest glows in LA sunshine.

Yeah, LA with Jose. That could be very nice now.

 

///

 

“Hi! Welcome back to my channel. Mommy has a treat for you today, children. This is my boyfriend and he will be doing my makeup.”

“Surprise bitch! Guess who his boyfriend? Me, ho! Get these cookies! He done got ‘em. Guess who back in the house bracacacacacaca.”

“Yes, Vanjie’s here and we’re dating again. Officially. Try to contain yourselves.”

“Bitch, y’all need to chill. But yaaaassss. Official bitch! Catch that, Youtube. The Youtubes.”

“Come on, boyfriends!”

“And I already know y’all bout to pop off in the comments so be nice, thank you!”

“Yes, keep it cute, children.“

“We in love, we always been in love and now we dating again. That all you thirsty bitches need to know. Y’all need to relax. Don’t be tagging us one hundred and thirty nine thousand times. We appreciate the support but, bitch, you gotta go live your lives.”

“Go play outside children. Do it for mommy.”

“Yeah, cuz she can’t no more,” Vanjie laughs, with his Sorry I’m Being Mischievous But Aren’t I Cute face, and leans over to press a quick kiss to Brooke Lynn’s cheek.

Brock wonders whether to edit the kiss out or leave it in to drive the children crazy.

“So obviously my boyfriend is a drag queen and very talented with makeup. He used to be a MAC makeup artist.”

“He like to brag about me on his channel. Thank you, Youtube,” Jose grins. Brooke Lynn glares at him and he smirks, backing down. “No go ahead baby, it cute.”

“Shut up. Let me talk. This is my intro.”

“Aww ain’t he cute when he all pressed? Look at this man, Youtube.”

“Excuse me, I’m a woman!”

“Look at this woman! Youtube, once again, I’m sorry y’all missin her in action cuz she lookin good in person.”

“Shut up, baby. Can you take my hand and put it over your mouth?"

Vanjie laughs and holds Brooke Lynn's hand there, eyes sparkling. He kisses her palm, a peck at first, then mouth open with tongue, and Brock feels it enough that his breath catches. 

"Stop it, we're on camera," he glares at him, half warning, half pleased.

Jose puts his hand back and sits back quietly, giving his good boy smile.

"So. This won’t be like a typical one of these videos. I'm sure everybody knows who he is but for anyone living under a rock, we're both drag queens. He knows what he’s doing so the makeup is actually going to be good! But his style is super different than mine so it should be fun.”

Vanjie is bouncing in her chair with the effort of not talking.

“And obviously I can’t do my own makeup anymore, so it’ll be nice for me. Well. It’ll be interesting. He did it last night for a show and it was definitely hard not to be able to correct things.”

“Correct? Boo, I come correct. What you mean? Don’t get pressed, Toes, we gon make you real pretty. “

“I’m not pretty already?”

“Course you are, baby," Vanjie kisses his cheek again and Brock decides he's just posting the video as is, it would take too long to edit everything out.

"We gon make you even prettier. Real banjie street hooker, baby. That how I like my hos,” Vanjie laughs. “Nah, I’m just playin. I like ‘em real white with busted ass toes, you know that.”

They smile at each other, forgetting the camera.

It’s Brock’s most viewed video within an hour of going up. It pretty much breaks the gay internet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was inspired by the film Me Before You and more generally by my thought experiments on types of things that would have to happen to put B in a mindset where he’d want to get back with V any time soon. Ha?
> 
> Was gonna submit it as a prompt to AQ and then made the questionable decision of just writing it myself - ha! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and that it wasn’t wildly inaccurate or offensive!
> 
> .
> 
> I am really struggling with loss of work due to COVID 19. If you enjoyed this story, or any of my writing (or hate it but feel like doing something nice today!) please consider [sending me a digital cup of coffee](https://poppedthep.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> If even half the people who see this did it, it would make a huge difference! 
> 
> If you can’t or don’t want to, that’s cool. People here are the best. You are totally welcome to continue enjoying my stories no matter what!


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